


murder can actually be so personal

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (I think ?), Blood, Fluff, M/M, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Murder, Murder Duo AU I guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Gerry is working through some stuff.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	murder can actually be so personal

**Author's Note:**

> I think this au originated in the server but it ended in me describing a specific scene in such detail to my lovely friend that it ended up too long for a discord message and I had to put it in a doc and then it was already in a doc so why not write it, y'know?

“You look so...free when you kill.” 

It didn’t feel like the right word, didn’t quite sum up the overwhelming feeling of...something Gerry had felt in his chest the first time he watched Michael bring the knife down with a sort of unhinged violence, no holding back, no regard for how much of a mess he was making. It had taken Gerry’s breath away and he hadn’t stopped thinking of it since.

Michael looked up from his place next to Gerry, eyes lazy in the light of the setting sun. They were on the roof, which had become Gerry’s favourite place to be the moment Michael had led him up there a couple weeks ago, when they had decided to stop their little competition and put the newfound energy into kissing each other rather than fighting over the next kill. The sun had been close to rising that time, and they had still been breathing heavily from running, some arguing, the lingering high of the kill. And then they had been kissing, and there had been nothing gentle in it, not at first, and it had been sloppy, both tired and wired at the same time-

Michael’s voice pulled him out of the memory. “I mean, that’s the point. No more performing, not in those moments. I can just...let loose.”

Gerry let the words sink in, rolled them over in his mind as the orange sky reflected, near-perfectly, in Michael’s grey eyes. They looked like little suns, eerie and beautiful and faintly luminescent.

“It...it’s the same for me, I think. Technically.” Gerry sighed, knit his brows. “I sometimes just feel like it doesn’t quite work. Body goes autopilot and I’m...back. To when I killed for her.”

His voice went a little quiet, but Michael didn’t need to understand the words to recognise the tone. Unlike Michael, Gerry had been raised to kill. And it showed. There was an efficiency to his movements, nearly mechanical. Sometimes his face was an unreadable mask as he brought knife to skin and Michael had wondered, more than once, if Gerry’s thrill came from how very little he tended to plan beforehand rather than the actual killing. But maybe that wasn’t quite it, after all.

“She's dead,” Michael said.

Gerry nodded. “I still feel her grip on me. I just...haven’t managed to shake it yet.”

He sounded sad, which was, thankfully, rare. But its rarity only made Michael more acutely aware of how much he disliked hearing Gerry’s voice like that. He watched him for a moment, pondering.

“We could try something out, if you want?”

Gerry looked at him, curious. “Like what?”

Michael considered. It wasn’t quite a full idea yet, only a vague concept. “I’ll find somewhere where we can take our time.”

Gerry frowned. “Do you think it’ll help?”

“It might.” Michael shrugged, got up from his chair. “Do you want to try?”

He held out his hand to Gerry, who looked at it for a moment, thinking. He was tired of constantly feeling Mary’s ghost breathing down his neck. It had been nearly two years. He might as well try whatever Michael was thinking of.

“Yes,” he mumbled and took Michael’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Michael pulled him close, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Let’s get inside.”

Gerry nodded, and let Michael lead the way back to his apartment.

As usual, Michael took his time in planning everything through. Gerry tried to bite back his impatience, with mixed success. He tried to not push the topic too much, but it was clear in the amused line of Michael’s smile that he knew very well that Gerry was itching to ask for details on what he had planned. And occasionally he did, and Michael’s answer was always to be patient. Gerry didn’t do patient well. It had always been one of Mary’s recurring complaints.

But none of it mattered when Michael led him through the woods as the sun disappeared fully behind the horizon. Gerry was on edge, nerves and excitement making him jittery. Michael squeezed his hand, rubbed circles into it with his thumb. It made a minor difference, but Gerry was still grateful for it and gave him a smile.

Soon there was a clearing and a shed, small and unremarkable, barely visible in the dark that had settled. Michael led the way inside. 

It seemed to be abandoned, the walls weather-darkened wood, inside bare. Somebody was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, unconscious. Gerry’s hand itched for his knife and he let go of Michael’s hand. Gerry took a deliberate breath. Somehow, this felt important. Like his chance, maybe the last one, to finally shake off Mary, her phantom grip he still felt too real, suffocating, pushing him down.

Michael noticed him tensing up, turned around with a reassuring smile. "Take your time. Nobody will find us out here."

Gerry nodded, grateful. Michael stepped back and Gerry pulled out his knife, stepped towards the unconscious person in the chair. He took a deep breath, raised his knife. This felt strangely like before, the awareness that he was being watched and Gerry felt that same tightness in his chest. He shook his head. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t Mary’s cold eyes that were observing, judging his every movement. This was Michael. It was different. 

Michael watched him, the tension in his jaw, the kind of stiff posture. “It’s alright, Gerry. We can stop anytime, if you want.”

Gerry shook his head, trying to shake off the lingering memories, focus on Michael instead, on  _ now _ , on the knife in his hands as he brought it down. 

He didn't intend for a killing blow, but it just happened, his body moving on its own. He heard her voice, tone harsh as always. 

_ Don’t waste my time _ . 

And Gerry hadn’t, Gerry couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. His body followed life-long orders again and again, years and years after she was gone, her voice and face haunting his dreams but she was gone and he should be able to live without her constant presence. He watched the blood glistening on his blade and grit his teeth, tears pricking at his eyes. He did this for himself, had been killing for himself for so long and yet it never really, truly felt like him. It was always her, would always be her and Gerry was so fucking frustrated-

“Gerry.” Gerry froze, but it was Michael’s gentle voice that pulled him out of his thoughts. He tried to relax, tried to keep his hand from shaking. Michael tried for an even softer tone as he continued, “Look at me.” Gerry did, and his eyes were glistening with tears. Michael cupped his cheek with a smile. “Love, it’s fine.”

Gerry shook his head. “I didn’t mean to kill...right away.”

“You’ll get another chance, my sweet. It doesn’t need to be perfect tonight, okay? This was just trying something out.” Michael brushed his cheek with his thumb, waited for Gerry to meet his eyes before adding, “And you still have time. Do you feel like you’re done?”

He  _ was _ done. He would have been done. Mary never liked him lingering, never liked him wasting time. Mary was gone. Gerry clutched his knife tighter.

“No,” he breathed and Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Gerry shook his head. “Stay.”

“Alright.” Michael stepped back again.

Gerry’s jaw was set and his eyes determined as he turned back to the body. It didn’t matter. Mary would have hated for him to go on, so he clutched his knife, and did.

Gerry was out of breath. His hand hurt from clutching the knife too tightly but there was blessed silence about it in his head. No phantom Mary to criticise him. He had heard her before. Age-old instructions, threats he knew by heart, had been made to learn again and again. The constant reminder;  _ don’t waste my time _ , _ you’ll regret it _ . And Gerry had, plenty of times, had paid for the smallest of slip-ups, and he still heard her voice so vividly, so clearly, a permanent resident in his head and it was so  _ frustrating _ and maybe it had made him scream in frustration as he felt his muscles tense as they always had when she spoke to him, so much as looked at him, and his body went back into autopilot and tried to kill what was already dead efficiently. Gerry was so done with it, and there had been tears in his eyes as he shook with the effort of making it stop.

Michael helped. He didn’t get closer, kept his distance because Gerry looked like he’d start if touched and Michael felt like that would make it worse. But he kept encouraging him, reassuring Gerry he was doing fine, that it would be okay, that there was no pressure of doing anything the right way, there  _ was _ no right way and Gerry was allowed to take his time and figure things out at his own pace. It was good to have Michael’s voice, gentle and steady, soft, warm, all that Mary’s voice had never been. It was good to know his was real while Mary’s was a ghost and Gerry tried to focus on it, to keep his mind in the now rather than let his thoughts spiral into unpleasant memories.

It had gotten better once he found his footing, and Gerry felt like he was cracking with every blow, more and more of that restrictive shell he had been stuck in for all his life breaking through and there was so much  _ anger _ and frustration, more than what he had been aware of keeping down, locked away, bottled up, because Mary would get mad if she’d know, and she always knew, could tell whenever Gerry allowed himself to get anything from the kills she sent him on, fun, or catharsis, she always knew and she’d always make sure it wouldn’t happen again. 

And at some point there had been laughter and Gerry had taken a moment to recognise it as his own, it sounded too shrill and at the same time too light, too much like the kind of laughter he'd pick up on a sunny day in the park, no worries, nothing dragging it down. It sounded happy. There were still tears streaming down his face and there was more blood on his hands than Mary would have ever let him get away with and Gerry laughed.

And then he was out of breath, exhausted, and his hand hurt from the too-tight grip. He felt light. He felt calm. Gerry had never truly felt calm, not the way Michael seemed to after killing. Gerry had always stayed on edge, knowing that it would only be really over once Mary gave him an absent-minded nod, a scolding for taking too long, maybe. Except Mary had been gone and Gerry had never stopped waiting for it, the nervous edge staying, an itch he couldn’t scratch because Mary was dead but part of him seemed to be unable to conceptualise it. 

It was all gone for now. Gerry felt good, felt calm and at the same time wired, but in a good way. Lingering thrill, adrenaline high that didn’t immediately plummet because Mary’s voice was in his ears. No, there was silence, only his own heartbeat and the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the blood on his hands. He was in awe of it. It hadn’t been the first blood he spilled for himself by a long shot but it was the first time it felt like it and it was good. There was so much of it on his shirt - Mary would’ve hated that - and he was vaguely aware of something of the same wetness on his face - he didn’t know how much it had been splatters, how much it had been Gerry’s bad habit of running a hand through his hair, touching his face. Mary had never managed to fully beat that one out of him. But Gerry didn’t even feel the familiar cold dread at the memory. Mary was gone. He could feel she was gone, he knew, right now, in that moment, that she was no more and there was a wide grin on his face at the euphoria that came with the realisation. Gerry felt himself giggling, a foreign sound, one he wasn’t sure he ever made before, but it felt  _ right _ , felt like the perfect expression of the indescribable something, the  _ relief _ he felt in that moment and so he giggled as he brushed an escaped strand of hair behind his ear.

“Gerry?” Michael’s voice sounded again, and there was something else in it now, beside the reassurance, that soft cadence that had anchored Gerry before. Gerry turned around to look at him and felt struck by the adoring expression on his face, the admiring smile that fit the way he had spoken Gerry’s name. “You’re beautiful.”

Gerry chucked, a little confused at the seemingly random compliment, and Michael closed the space between them, slowly pulled Gerry into his arms. Gerry returned the embrace with a smile, closed his eyes and there was still no Mary and another fit of giggles escaped his lips. Michael loosened the hug a little, gently tipped Gerry’s head back by his chin. He took a moment to take him in, the dark brown of his eyes seeming even darker in the dim light, but still intense. They always were but there was something else to them right now, they looked alive in a way Michael had never seen them look before and so breathtakingly pretty he wanted to drown in them, wanted to breathe that joy and thrill and whatever else seemed to be illuminating Gerry’s eyes from within. 

Instead, he leaned in, only a little, a question in his eyes. Gerry nodded, wrapped his hands around Michael’s neck, the knife clattering to the floor carelessly - Gerry had never been allowed carelessness and something in that sound made his heart jump. But there were no consequences. Michael pressed their lips together and Gerry knew it was fine, Michael didn't care about the knife on the floor and so Gerry allowed himself to not think of it either, to instead get lost in Michael’s lips against his, the faint metallic taste of blood, or maybe it was just the scent of it, heavy in the stuffy shed, settling on his tongue. 

Gerry didn’t care and Michael pulled him closer by his waist and Gerry hummed because this felt right, and it felt like what he needed, somewhere to put all that had bubbled up inside of him, all the strange emotions he seemed to be feeling at once. It was simple, Michael’s lips familiar as they moved against his, and Gerry felt content.

**Author's Note:**

> they could've given therapy a try first, would've made less of a mess...


End file.
